


Counting Bones

by Napping



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Fix-It, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Recovery, Steve and Tony need and deserve a lot of blankets and I will roll them into some later I swear, They’ll actually talk about everything, Tony knows he made mistakes too, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-21 01:23:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12446376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Napping/pseuds/Napping
Summary: That night, Tony sat alone in his workshop and, for the first time in months, the glass full of scotch felt wrong in his hands. He just looked at it, turned it in his hand, watched how the bright light from the celling changed its color to a soft gold, but he couldn’t bring himself to drink it. He’d stopped drinking, back when he was still together with Steve; it’d been a hard fight, they both had to work so hard to keep his alcoholism under control, but they did it. But after Steve’s shield nearly killed him, he didn’t see a point in stopping with alcohol anymore. It’s not like anyone cared anyway.Or in which Tony develops an eating disorder after the Civil War.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all: Vision and Wanda are not in this story, but luckily Jarvis is!  
> I hope you like it, I'd love to read your comments.  
> The second part will be up in like 2 weeks, it's already 80% finished.
> 
> I also just want to make clear that I love Steve - I am so sorry he turned out to be a dick here in a few scenes, I just needed somebody to get the plot rolling; I am truely sorry @ my baby boy.  
> Steve’s a sweetheart and he’ll be one here too, I swear. ♥️

 

_Tony Stark liked his coffee with two sugars and three spoonfuls of milk._

Looking at Steve for the first time after he had nearly killed Tony might have been the hardest thing Tony has ever had to go through. He went through abuse and torture, he’d been put under water for so long that he forgot what air in his lungs felt like, he watched the people he trusted betray him, without the ability to even do as much as _move._ Hell, there was a time, when the only thing that could possibly keep him alive could also kill him at any given moment; but looking at Steve was far worse than any of that. 

And for a few seconds he was under water again, he forgot how to breath, all the air got pressed out of his lungs and he had the urge to lay his hands over the arc reactor — which he forgot wasn’t in his chest anymore — to not give Steve any chance to take this as well. And that might be the most hurtful thing of it all, Tony was really convinced that Steve was capable of doing so. Steve made Tony feel the urge to protect something that wasn’t there, but was considered as his greatest weakness, so Steve couldn’t take that from him too. Tony swallowed dryly and focused on Steve’s nose instead of his eyes. Nobody could tell a difference, but it was easier for Tony this way. It never hurt that much to look in somebody’s eyes before.   

”Thank you for letting us stay here again, we really didn’t know where else to go.” 

Steve sounded genuinely honest but he also told Tony that he’d never leave him with the same kind of honesty, so he couldn’t really tell if this was a lie or not. Then again he didn’t really give a damn about it either; everything around him was kind of numb now anyway and there was this constant heavy feeling on his tongue as if he could painfully feel every thought he never dared to utter out loud. 

”Yeah, Stark, thanks.” Clint nodded at him and gave Tony a friendly pat on the shoulder. This little touch made Tony freeze in order to suppress a flinch; just for a tiny second before he plastered his trained bright smile onto his face, even though it felt weirdly heavy too, as if his skin didn’t quite fit anymore. So here he was, trying to look unconcerned, like this wasn’t killing him inside.

 

Natasha looked at him with a thoughtful expression, her right eyebrow raised and her front teeth buried in her bottom lip. Barnes next to her had his eyes on the floor, everything about him screamed guilt and he didn’t seem as if he was willing to fight. He just looked devastated and so, so tired. Tony felt a tiny bit empathy. He had more time to think about everything, and found that he didn’t hate James, even though he surely should.

Sam stood slightly in front of Barnes, in the way that he could easily push James behind him and defend him if necessary. Tony doubted that it was a conscious habit but it still stung nonetheless.

Sam acted as if Tony hadn’t been the one nearly dying and then bending backwards to get them out of prison and clear their bad reputations. He didn’t expect them to bring him thank you  baskets, but a little appreciation wouldn’t hurt either. 

This whole welcoming back thing turned out worse than he had hoped for, but better than he expected. 

”To finally be home again was really what we all needed, man. Zemo was such an asshole.”

Sam said that so easily, as if nothing had ever happened. And Tony couldn’t tell if he wanted to kiss or strangle him for it. He really eased the awkward pseudo - friendly handshaking, but Tony didn’t really feel relieved by it.

”Aha”, Tony answered unimpressed, looking directly into Sam’s eyes, challenging him a little, ”Worse than you, or about the same?” 

Sam and Clint barked out a laugh and even Bucky made a huffing sound. Tony found himself able to take a real breath for the first time since the elevator doors opened and the other half of the team walked in.

”It’s really good to be back.”

Sam looked at him more honest than he’s ever been before he picked up his bag from the floor and walked together with Clint - who gave Tony another nod and pat on the back - and Barnes to their rooms. 

Natasha and Steve both remained standing in front of him as if they waited for him to gave them a lecture about trust and betrayal, but he just nodded and flashed another smile at them and told them to just ask Jarvis if they needed anything before he turned around to go to his workshop, probably to find the meaning of life on the bottom of a scotch glass. 

Looking back, that moment may have been the moment when everything went to hell. Or well, became more _hellish_ , because everything before that hadn’t really been Candyland either. But that might be the key moment when his life went from shitty to even shittier; when he went from bad to worse and everything just became darker than it had been before. 

That night, Tony sat alone in his workshop and, for the first time in months, the glass full of scotch felt wrong in his hands. He just looked at it, turned it in his hand, watched how the bright light from the celling changed its color to a soft gold, but he couldn’t bring himself to drink it. He’d stopped drinking, back when he was still together with Steve; it’d been a hard fight, they both had to work so hard to keep his alcoholism under control, but they did it. But after Steve’s shield nearly killed him, he didn’t see a point in stopping with alcohol anymore. It’s not like anyone cared anyway.

Don’t get him wrong, he knew how dangerous this addiction could be, so he never got completely wasted like in the old times. Just a drink here and there to forget that he, yet again, had trusted a person who just betrayed him in the end, no big deal. Okay, he got wasted _one_ time, but who was counting. He was entitled to drown his sorrows, but he got it under control ever since. 

But right now with the drink in his hands it just felt _wrong,_ he couldn’t bring himself to do anything more than just stare. He felt so _empty_ inside, the kind of void that could never be filled again and it felt ridiculous to even try and drink something. He knew it would fail, would leave him feeling worse, and in the morning, Steve would be disappointed by him.

Tony couldn’t help himself but picture Roger’s disappointed face. How Steve would furrow his eyebrows and clench his jaw, while his whole charisma screamed 'Why would you do that' and Tony would — _not care_. 

Tony clenched his glass-free hand into a fist and exhaled sharply. He would not care, just like Rogers wouldn’t. They’ve been over for _months;_ Steve didn’t ask him how he was doing _once_ , so why should Tony care what he’d think of him. He’d _disappoint_ Steve, so what? It’s not his job to make him happy, it’s not on him to do what Steve wants; he is 47, he can do whatever the hell he wants to do. 

He brought the glass to his lips, his head yelling at him that it wouldn’t help him anyway and that this hole in his chest was so much more than just the missing part of his sternum, but he didn’t pay attention to it. 

He’d show Steve that he wasn’t his trained dog anymore. He did what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it. And if he wanted to drown in an expensive bottle all in one go, than so be it. It was his problem and nobody else’s. He can take care of himself. The others will realize that eventually, the sooner the better.

Tony got wasted for the second time in years that night and woke up just how he passed out:

Hanging halfway of the couch, the empty bottle in his iron grip, as if it was the only thing that could give him the hold that he needed, as if it could save him from the free fall he’s been in since he was a child. 

And just like he had predicted, he didn’t feel any better. He just felt way worse. He couldn’t even feel his headache; he just felt unbelievably numb and there was nothing that could pull him out of this.

He got up unsteadily and found his way upstairs to go grab a shower. On the sofa in the common area sat Steve with a little notebook on his lap. He looked at Tony just like Tony thought he would. 

Disappointed with a hint pity, as if he was really sad but not surprised to see Tony that way. And maybe, just maybe, was it exactly that little bit of pity, that made Tony hate to just look at alcohol. 

Tony stood in the shower, feeling worse than ever before, while Steve -of all people- _pitied_ him as if he weren’t the person that ruined Tony for anybody or anything else really. 

The following night, when he locked himself into his workshop, he had no intention to drink any alcohol. He was rather disgusted by it. Because Tony Stark felt empty inside and this void couldn’t be filled by any alcohol and the last thing he needed was a constant reminder that not even getting drunk could help him. 

His project for that night was to throw all the alcohol, backup alcohol and backup-backup alcohol out until his workshop was free from any of it. Hopefully he could go back to work, not missing pointless drinking once.

And it was so good. Until it wasn’t. 

  
****

Living with the team was easy — or at least easier than he expected. He got along well with them once they got over the first few awkward conversations and guilt-fueled, half-hearted apologies, that rung in Tony’s head over and over again. He was so done with lies and he could just see that those apologies were everything but 100% from the heart.

But it was okay. When he ignored the first few awkward weeks in which they just kind of co - existed and Tony put all his energy into avoiding them all like the plague. Eventually, the tension slowly slipped away and they came back to a rhythm. 

And Tony really was okay, most of the time. And yes, that was a plain lie. 

The constant heavy feeling everywhere in his body wouldn’t go away. Seeing Rhodes, the one friend he could always count on, working his ass off to walk again hurt so much, he couldn’t put it into words. Everything felt numb and cold, but also hurtful and he couldn’t think of anything that could make him feel better and less like a shell of himself. 

He still walked around, constantly feeling the need to wear the iron bracelets to call his armor to him, just in case. He didn’t feel threatened by them per se, but he wasn’t naive either. There were 5 people living with him, who would’ve killed him a few months back if they needed to and he couldn’t help but have the urge to look over his shoulder constantly. So yeah, he felt better when he wore them it; knowing that Jarvis would send the armor right to him at any sign of danger made him lose a tiny bit of tension. 

But it was okay. He just needed a few minutes to warm up before he could feel less paranoid around them, but he mostly really got along with them all right. Well, with some more than with others. 

He got along quite well with Clint, their constant teasing just never wore off and it was nearly as if their ‘war' had never happened. Their jokes came easy and naturally. Tony grew more and more confident and less threatened around him. 

Then again this had never been about Clint really, he was just on Steve’s side, and then Clint was angry because he was in prison and that was that about that. But now that that was all over he and Clint could share their normal laughter again, which was quite refreshing really. 

Same with Sam, but a bit icier, as if they were only on the edge between gentle teasing and ripping each other’s heads off. But that could be because he didn’t know him as well and still didn’t really know exactly _where he even came from_. He just kind of appeared from one moment to the next. Tony only knew that Steve met him while running and _of course_ became friends with him. Because perfect Steve can’t even leave the house without finding new friends. 

Tony shook his head, _stop being bitter, Stark,_ and focused back on the plans for Bucky’s new arm. He had been working on it since he returned to his lab.

 _Bucky._ The name was still like a bitter pill in his mouth, but Bucky’d asked him with a quite heartbreaking expression to _please_ stop calling him James, since this had been what Hydra called him too. Bucky couldn’t bear to think about that anymore, the nightmares were enough and he couldn’t stand to hear the name James when he was awake as well. Bucky had looked so hurt, all his emotions open in his eyes, he didn’t even bother to hide them; he didn’t hide anything in fact. He was completely open and honest, so trustworthy that Tony couldn’t help but feel empathy. 

He has had so much anger inside him and it just exploded when he found out just _who_ killed his parents, but this anger was long gone. Key words: Empty inside. 

But that moment in the kitchen at 3 am in the morning, when Bucky poured coffee into a cup for himself and then totally understandingly filled one for Tony too, with two sugars and three spoonfuls of milk. Bucky then sat down on the sofa beside him, looking at him thoughtfully before spilling that he was sorry - the first apology which didn’t sound like a lie, unlike all the others Tony had to hear from the rest of the team. Tony could still see it in front of him, how honest Bucky looked at him, told him that he was really sorry for everything.

 

_”I just wanted to apologize. I know what you mean to Steve and he would never admit it, but I can see that he deeply regrets everything that happened. And I also want to apologize for — kind of everything in this fight and before that.”_

_Bucky looked up from his steaming cup and Tony thought for a second that he’d smile at him, but he didn’t. This was an honest conversation, Barnes didn’t say anything to smile about and so he didn’t. Tony took a second to take in how Bucky acted. Everything._

_Inside, Tony was filled with mixed emotions — grief, fear, deep regret, even sympathy for this broken man —, Tony leaned back while maintaining eye contact, ”You’ve been through a lot.”_

_Don’t get him wrong, in the bottom of his stomach he still felt the need to call for his Iron Man suit, but something about Barnes was quite relaxing. He didn’t hide himself away, he was weirdly aware of himself and what he did and he was obviously working to deal with it all and Tony really respected that._

_Tony nodded at him, ignoring how the void inside of him contracted when Bucky talked about how he meant something to Steve. It was as if his heart got hopeful for a second until it collapsed under the weight of past events._

_  
”But I —,” Bucky interrupted himself shortly to drink half of his coffee in one go, ”I didn’t want to die. In the first time in forever I felt_ alive _again and you - I understand why you did what you did, Tony. But I had to — ”_

_Bucky stopped talking and made a vague waving gesture that spoke volumes. Tony felt the need to answer him, because Bucky took the time to explain himself and it made sense. It didn’t mean that Tony acted wrong and Barnes didn’t seem to think so either, he just wanted to explain himself and hell, Tony really got that._

_”It was justified for you to defend yourself, Barnes. I stopped blaming you a long time ago. I can’t imagine how living would feel right now if I killed you back there. It just — it kind of worked like your trigger words. My parents — ”, Tony took a deep sip from his cup, for the first time in years did he feel like the two sugars made his coffee taste way too sweet, ”I never got to say a proper goodbye and Steve knowing that you — it was too much for me to comprehend in this short time, but you don’t have anything to fear, you hear me? I swear to you, I don’t blame you, not anymore. I’m glad you’re better now, and you can stay here for as long as you want to.”_

_Saying out loud that Bucky could stay was a big thing for him, because it showed him that he really was over his anger for the man who faced hell more than once. Also it was pretty much the closest thing he ever came to asking someone to marry him._

 

This might have been the first moment in months in which Tony felt a bit lighter again, even though it ended pretty quickly after Bucky brought up Steve and — _sorry_ — this was a no no — topic for Tony. Because he might be able to forgive Clint and Sam and even Bucky, because his real self deserved forgiving, but _Steve_ \- it was more than personal with him. Steve meant the world to him: he trusted him, he _loved_ him. He never went as far as saying it out loud, because those words always seem to ruin everything. And yet, here he was anyway. 

Steve had told him he loved him, though. Had said all those things about him being the most important thing for him and his betrayal hurt like every bad thing Tony’s ever been through multiplied by 20. Because Steve was supposed to be Tony’s never forget—never regret. His head over heels, his seal of the deal, but he just didn’t deserve that apparently. 

That’s probably the reason why his _relationship_ — even thinking this word together with Steve’s name made him want to curl up and never face daylight again — with Steve was so icy. He just couldn’t bring himself to look into those blue eyes for longer than a few painful seconds and being in a room with him made Tony feel as if his toe nails curled up.

Every conversation they had was purely about missions and little things one had to discuss when living together. But Tony really tried to keep even those talks as minimal  as possible. Distance was the only thing he had; Steve had taken everything else. 

  
But golden boy Steve obviously wanted to talk things through; he always had a wounded—puppy expression and opened his mouth ever so slightly when Tony was about to leave after they exchanged a few sentences, trying to say more, but Tony couldn’t.

Tony let them all stay in his home. Tony built their amor and weapons. Tony was polite and tried his best to rebuild a friendly relationship with all of them; but Tony couldn’t -mentally as well as physically- listen to Steve Grant Rogers. Because he knew what the blonde would say, it wasn’t a hard thing to guess. 

Steve would apologize, say that he didn’t mean to hurt Tony, but Bucky was just more important, always had been, and Tony didn’t need to hear that. He had been through many bad things in his life, too many to even count, but Steve saying that he wasn’t good enough -even though he tried his best for Steve for _three years-_ that was something that he wouldn’t be able to shake off, ever. 

But also fact was, he was just delaying the conversation. Steve would say all this sooner or later and right now Tony did everything so that this later would become never and they both just forgot about it altogether. 

This means that his relationship with Steve was kind of nonexistent, if not strained. It was worse than that with Sam, but not as strained as with Natasha.

The whole deal with Natasha was so distant, since he couldn’t really tell on what terms they were at the moment, since she did help him but then didn’t and —. It was really complicated and messy and they never really talked about it, so they just haven’t really talked ever since. And he surely won’t be the one to make the first step so that’s that. 

 

Tony shook his head and wrapped up his plans for the new arm; he couldn’t focus anymore anyway. He walked slowly to his coffee machine, rubbing his temples and tried hard to not think about anything anymore, it just distracted him too much.

He took the steaming cup and was about to throw two sugars in it, without even thinking about it, when he stopped himself. This motion was so familiar: two sugars, three spoonfuls of milk. It’s how he drank his coffee, how he did for years, but right now he stared at the two sugar cubes, that lay innocently in his palm, and he couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose. His life was way too bitter, no sugar could help with that. It wouldn’t fill the emptiness inside of him, it would leave him feeling worn out and damaged, like the alcohol did. 

Tony raised his eyebrows in confusion over his strange thoughts, like, _of course_ sugar wouldn’t help with his problems. He didn’t put it into his coffee for this reason either, but he still lay the two cubes back into their container. He began to work on some new arrows for Clint without thinking about the forgotten cubes again. 

 

Tony didn’t even bother with trying to sleep anymore. If it overwhelms him than so be it, he’ll get his two hours until he wakes up, bathed in sweat, unheard screams on his lips; but he never laid down to sleep anymore. It would end up with nightmares anyway.

He must have fallen asleep over the plans for the new arrows, because the next thing he knows is that he was being shaken awake by familiar hands on his shoulders. _Familiar hands. Steve._

He sat up and rolled with his chair to the other end of his work shop so fast that he became dizzy for a moment. Steve’s touch still ghosting over him like 100 bugs, he couldn’t help but shiver. 

This was not okay, so absolutely not okay, and nor was the little warm feeling inside of him, as if he didn’t know that he craved for that man’s touch. He couldn’t even fall _out_ of love _after_ nearly being _killed_ by Steve. Jesus, what did it take to turn this warm and safe feeling off, because right now it was just really confusing. 

He felt as if he needed to call his suit instantly to defend himself, just in case Steve decided to _actually kill_ him this time, but in the same urge he just wanted to crawl back into those arms and never let go again. It was confusing as hell and Tony was still _way_ too tired for all of this.

  
”I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Tony absolutely did _not_ flinch when Steve spoke up, he was just really taken aback. He did such a great job in avoiding any conversation with him, that he didn’t even think about deleting Steve’s overwrite codes for the workshop. _Stupid._ He knew better than that.

”Tony ?” Steve said in his just-Steve-tone; the tone that Tony craved so much, the tone behind the voice, something so soft and light. Tony nearly forgot that this was how Steve said his name for all the time they had been in a relationship. 

So gently as if everything about Tony was _precious_ and even his name deserved all the love there was. Tony felt like he’d scream because of the pain that spread through his whole body. Resigned, he clench his eyes. This is what he’s become. He just waited for Steve to say his name and then scream in agony. He swallowed dryly over 10 times, until he could focus again. 

Then he just made an uncaring hand motion, not trusting his voice to not break just yet.

”I just wanted to check in, we haven’t talked in quite a while.”

  
Steve scratched the back of his head, and the only thing that kept Tony from saying _'And who’s fault is that'_ was sheer will power and the fact that his lips felt as if they were glued together. He really should drink more water, but that’s just the next point on his ‘whatever list.’ 

”Yeah, Cap, I’ve got lots of work to do. Actually, if you could send Bucky down here, I’ve got a new mechanism for his arm, that should allow him to —”

”Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do here.”

_Damnit._

”I have no idea what you are talking about. Like I said, I am busy.”

Steve raised an unimpressed eyebrow, obviously not buying anything Tony just said, but knowing that he was in no place to really argue about it either. He lost this right, ready to never gain it again ever. 

  
”You were asleep until I came in here.”

Steve leaned against the worktable opposite to Tony and crossed his arms.

”See, all this lost time I need to make up for. So get to the point or get out.”

Tony sounded a lot less tired and broken than he thought he would. In fact, he sounded rather strong, as if telling Steve to leave his workshop wasn’t one of the things he never thought he’d need to do.

”I am sorry, Tony. I know I hurt you.” 

Steve looked at him, honest, with his blue eyes shining like the damn moon but all Tony could see was yet another person on his list. Another person he had trusted, just to get betrayed. Because that seems to be all what people did around him. Waiting for him to tell them his weakness and then rip it right out of his chest. 

Really, Steve might’ve been the person he finally thought of as worth of his trust but he knew better now. Tony knew exactly how things like that ended. 

”Jesus, Steve,” was all Tony could make himself say. He didn’t know the context to it either, it’s just — _Jesus Christ, Steve, you did so much more than just hurt me._

Steve nodded, seeming really crushed about it all. Tony suppressed that hint of compassion that threatened to bloom inside of him.  

”I am certain you already know that, but I just wanted to let you hear me say it out loud, to make it clear. I’d _never_ kill you.”

Tony stood up from his chair and put his hand on his chin, a mockery of deep contemplation.

 ”Uhm, yes you would. That you didn’t surprised both of us and you know it is true.” 

And how painfully aware of it Tony was that it was true. 

”No, I —” 

Tony interrupted him, before he could make up an excuse as if Tony was _stupid_ enough to believe any words that come out of his mouth ever again.

”Yes.”

The silence after that stretched between them, like a haunting third presence in the room. It was so thick and heavy that Tony was certain he could cut through it with a knife.

He could feel Steve’s eyes on him, could see how he looked at him with his best impersonation of a fish out of water, until he apparently got his thoughts back in order and just nodded a few times before speaking up again. 

”You can’t honestly believe that this is true, I wouldn’t — I _didn’t_.”

  
Tony didn’t answer him. If Steve wanted to live in denial then so be it, but Tony would never make the same mistake twice and believe what Steve was saying. So he just looked at him, trying to seem strong. As if he wasn’t a bit _too_ broken to be ever repaired again and oddly resigned about it.

”I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay.” 

 _Of course, he was feeling just peachy._ Tony had to actually keep himself from laughing sarcastically.

“I’m okay,” he replies eventually and even to his own ears it sounded like a lie. He used to be a good liar, where was this talent the one time he really needed it. 

Steve narrowed his eyes at him. 

“Okay,” he says, “you wanna try that again?"

And that’s when something in Tony just snapped, because _no._ He didn’t want to talk to Steve about this — or anything really. How could Steve even stand there and act as if Tony owed him an answer. Tony could be completely fine or on the edge of crying and neither would be Steve’s problem. He didn’t care how Tony felt back then, so why now? Now that Bucky was safe, Tony’s feelings were worth worrying over again? _Wonderful._

”No, actually,” Tony sounded so distant, even he himself was impressed by just how good he could act this cold, as if his heart wasn’t shatter into yet more pieces, ”Sometimes team mates don’t tell each other things. Like how they really feel, who killed their parents, y’know, it’s fun.”

Tony’s eyes shined bright in challenge. 

”Tony, why do you have to be this stubborn and — ,” Steve threw his hands up and sighed exhausted, as if he was truly tired of Tony not forgiving him for nearly _killing him, ”_ can’t you just stop with all this act and _try_ to understand my point of view? Do you have to make everything so complicated ?” 

Tony actually huffed, _he_ was making things complicated ?

  _He_ had been the one sending the best lawyers to get the others out of prison with a clean record, _he_ let them all move in, even Steve _and_ Barnes, and _he_ also stayed out of Steve’s way to avoid doing exactly that. 

Yet another person, who betrayed _him,_ acting as if he was the one at fault. Blaming him for all the problems there were, because _why the hell not_. As if Tony wasn’t working his ass off, bending over backwards to make everyone happy. 

”Well, if I am this hard to put up with, then you should have rammed your shield into my head and not just into the reactor.”

Steve’s mouth opened in shock and stayed that way for a few seconds, looking at Tony like he had just tried to explain String Theory to him in Russian.

”Tony, I never meant to hurt — ” Steve interrupted himself before Tony could, probably realizing just how much nonsense he was saying, but that was just a theory.  

“Finish that sentence, Steve, I dare you.”

Steve’s whole posture collapsed; he seemed smaller, as if he had just lost any hope for this conversation ending in his ideal way, whatever that had been. 

He began rambling excuses and explanations and Tony had no other choice but to swallow them like disgusting pills, without really paying attention to what he even spewed out. 

After he was finished he just looked miserable, and Tony couldn’t help himself but feel the empathy he had tried to suppress ever since Steve had entered the lab. Despite his best efforts, it grew and grew and there it was: making him want to hug the other man, but also shout at him forever, for throwing their whole relationship away just like that, as if it meant nothing to him. 

”It’s fine, Cap.”  
It was not fine. 

But Steve didn’t need to know that. If he could stop Steve from looking this crushed by pretending he was A-okay, than so be it. 

Steve might have given him up just like that but that didn’t mean that Tony’s feelings for him just ended. Admittedly they should’ve died, but his relationship with Steve had been by far his most precious thing. He really did try, okay. 

He tried to change and really make it work; in fact, he’d never before in his life worked for anything as hard as he’d strived for this. And he couldn’t just let it go. Because once it was gone, what was he ? 

So yeah, he probably shouldn’t still have feelings for Steve now that he had the proof that it wasn’t requited, but he couldn’t help himself. Yet another thing Steve didn’t need to know.

  
”I just wanted to say that I am sorry and also — We live together, Tony, we can’t keep on ignoring each other.” Like hell Tony couldn’t. Steve should just watch him avoiding to talking again forever. 

”Yeah, I get it. Also, don’t bother apologizing,” Tony was so sick of empty excuses, 

”No hard feelings. Bucky’s awesome, I get it. Let’s call it a truce here, okay?”

His words are still strong, even as his face fell a little with every syllable. Steve just nodded, tiny smile on his lips, obviously not really believing anything that Tony just said, but too exhausted to discuss it further.  
  
”I am glad, Tony. I knew we could fix this, together.”

Tony’s heart did absolute not break some more when Steve said _together,_ just like in the old times. 

And he also absolutely not shed a few tears later on, before telling Jarvis to turn his music up as loud as possible. He may have worked on the damned arrows for 31 hours straight, until sleep overcame him eventually. 

 

The next time he faced all the Avengers again was the morning after his 5 hours forced nap, when he stumbled into the kitchen and right into their team breakfast, a thing they did quite often and Tony just attended once or twice a week max. He didn’t need to sit at a table, chewing food with all of them, as if that would magically fix all his problems, but he had to from time to time, if only to keep them off his case. 

Clint handed him the coffee pot, before Tony could even do as much as open his mouth, which caused him to nearly propose to the archer on the spot.

Sam reached over to give the sugar and milk to him, from which Tony thoughtlessly just took the milk and turned to the counter. He didn’t miss Sam’s teasing grin, though, which was why he turned, after putting exactly three spoonfuls of milk in his coffee, one eyebrow raised, hip against the counter, cup on his lips. 

Keeping challenging eyes on Sam, who smirked mischievously in return, Tony awaited a quip.  

”Finally grew out of the sugar age and arrived in the adult world, Tin Head ?” _Yes._  

Well, not yes per se, he lived in the ‘adult world' _all his life long,_ if we’re being honest. But Sam didn’t need to know that. In fact, _nobody_ needed to know that. Especially not the people sitting at the table opposite him. 

Not Clint, who grinned at him just as teasing as Sam. Not Natasha, who didn’t keep her head down really, just avoided his eyes as if they were powerful lasers. Not Bucky, who had quite an impressive bed head, but awake and attentive eyes, scanning his surroundings purposefully, like the trained soldier he was; even though there was a little upturn playing around the corners of his lips, as if he was excited and pleased by Clint, Sam and Tony making fun of each other constantly. And of course, who especially mustn’t know through just how much pain Tony really went in his life. Especially not the only one who knew a hell of a lot of it —Steve, sitting to Bucky’s left, gaze burning through Tony’s skin.

”What would you know about being an adult? You don’t pay rent, you live off of my money and you are like _five_. Seriously, you should be thanking me in five languages and praising me in songs all at once for not kicking your lazy ass out on the streets.” 

Tony took another sip out of his cup and watched Sam’s eyes glow in amusement and challenge. 

”Such harsh words, T. You make it sound as if you wouldn’t cry yourself to sleep, missing me, if I was gone.”

”Is this what you dream of? Me mourning after you?”

Sam licked his lips and nodded with a thoughtful expression. 

”After me and my great thighs, yes, sure.”

”You do have great thighs, man”, Clint nodded at Sam in agreement, who turned his head back to Tony, grinning downright dirty. 

”Do you two need a room together, king’s bed, mirror above it? Can be arranged.”

His coffee didn’t taste sweet at all. Tony liked it. No need to hide the truth behind sugar, his life was bitter. 

”Mirror above the bed, huh, kinky Tony. You like watching yourself lying on your back, getting fucked good and hard, begging for more ?” 

Sam clicked his tongue and then had the decency to wink at him, making a thrusting motion with a way too loud and teasing groan. 

Even Tony couldn’t bite back the grin that broke his resting sarcastic, challenging mask; while Clint had to hold onto the table, trying to get some air in his lungs between his loud, breathless laughter. 

”Is that what you picture to get off? Me getting fucked and still begging? I don’t want to ruin your fantasy, but _come on_ , Wilson, I beg for nothing.”

”Yeah, everything comes flying right into your hands, eh?"

 _Absolutely not._ Another thing nobody needed to know. They think everything he’s got just came to him, without him putting effort, hard work and for some things even his _life_ in it? Then so be it. 

He had nothing to prove, they wouldn’t believe him anyway. For them he was just the son of a brilliant man, who made him a billionaire, and who happened to be a genius. Pure luck. 

”Well, you sure did fly right into my arms now didn’t you, Wingman.” 

He through a wink at Wilson and placed his now empty mug in the sink behind him, before he walked, still quietly snickering, past them all in the direction of his workshop. He totally did not blush when he got a little glance of Steve’s reddened neck and ears, clearly thinking about the fact that Tony loved to beg for more while getting fucked by him. 

Tony suppressed that thought immediately, this was nothing he should think of again, ever. This whole thing was over and finished. Steve was _not_ interested in him, not enough anyway, message received and understood. They had had a great time together; Tony’d felt more loved than ever before and he had actually let Steve in. And that was the point right there. Tony had _trusted_ him. 

It was his mistake, really.  He was a _genius_ for fuck’s sake. He wasn’t 12 anymore, he had no reason whatsoever to fall for someone who was nice to him. Tony had learned this lesson years ago, decades even. Sentiment was a weakness, people were only fond of him for as long as they needed something. 

 _Well, that’s what you get, for not learning your lessons, after so many years_. 

Tony actually huffed at this. It was so clear now, that he didn’t even know how he’d even been able to fall for it. He had been replaced the second he became inconvenient and something better came around. 

 _Bucky._ Let’s face it, he’d never stood a chance in hell anyway, and that Steve would team up with Bucky, even though he’d been together with Tony for years, shouldn’t have been a surprise. And it wasn’t really. Everybody eventually turned on him. 

Tony locked the doors of the workshop quicker than ever before; he needed to get his hands on something to work on _now_ before he lost his damn mind to all this. As if he hadn’t thought all this through already. 

He spend hours working, putting sugar in his coffee was long forgotten and he didn’t even bother checking the fridge for something to eat. First off, he wasn’t really hungry anyway. This whole thinking about Steve and their conversation and the teasing from Sam that had hit just a _hint_ too close to home, making him feel numb. 

Was his back aching from the strange angle he had to be in, in order to work on one of his cars? Maybe. Was his stomach rumbling, wanting food? Probably. Were exactly six fingers bloody and hurting? Definitely. 

But Tony _couldn’t really feel any of that._ He just saw the weird angle, the blood on his fingers and how much time had passed since he last ate, but there was no other indicator. It was as if his whole body was on standby mode and Tony really didn’t care. Anything was better than feeling the constant aching pain deep inside of him. If his only way out of this suffering was not to feel at all, than yeah okay. 

And also Tony knew that in his fridge was nothing but a very questionable slice of cheese, a half jar of pickles, a crumpled mustard tube, and a mysterious Tupperware container. So why even try to find something he had no urge to eat anyway. 

 

 

_Tony liked his coffee with three spoonfuls of milk._

 

It stayed like that for months, really. He and the team had breakfast together from time to time, even though Tony just drank his coffee and ate scrambled eggs without bacon. 

He stopped eating meat, he couldn’t recall when. First it was completely unconscious till he thought for reasons why, he didn’t want to explain it to himself with ' _because you feel too empty and cutting out meat from your dinners just seems to fit_ ' so he thought about more reasons for his sudden sickness when he just thinks about meat. Thought about death and destruction and after a while all he could see when he looked at meat was blood and suffering. His head was playing games with him and he knew it but he couldn’t help it either. And it also didn’t hurt anyone, so whatever. 

 

Nothing really changed for him. When he loses a bit of his hair then so be it, he’s 47, it had to happen eventually. His cheeks sunk a little? So what. He had amazing cheek bones, no need to worry to much. The only thing was that he caught every virus out there. It seemed like he could’t stop coughing, but no reason to worry there. 

He just didn’t think about it. He was a genius, it would take him less than a minute to figure out what was happening to him, so he just pushed it away. He just really wanted to pretend for a little while longer that everything was normal; that he didn’t skip more meals than attend, that his nightmares weren’t becoming more frequent and his panic attacks weren’t getting worse, that he wasn’t always on the edge of a breakdown and that he wasn’t just holding everything together with much coffee and willpower made out of steel. 

But at least the team became more easy around each other, even though Tony tried to keep his distance and never let any deep—feelings talk happen. Steve tried to talk to him again, more than once, but Tony was good at finding ways to escape any conversation. 

Also Bruce came back. Tony felt like he could breath again for the first time in months; he wasn’t all alone anymore. Because that was the point right there. He wasn’t _alone,_ the others lived with him after all, but he didn’t have anyone who he really trusted but Rhodes, who suffered through enough as it was. But Bruce was familiar, he hadn’t turned on Tony and it was just so comforting to know that at least one person in this tower was a true friend. 

Nothing else changed really, but Natasha seemed to warm up some more again since Bruce came back as well and she even talked to Tony shortly. Just enough to make sure that they weren’t enemies. What didn’t mean they were friends, though, that’s why he was even more surprised when Natasha walked into his workshop as if she owned the place. Tony found the instant need to grab something to protect himself and look for ways how he could escape if he needed to. 

But Natasha kept a respectful distance and leaned against one of his worktables. 

”Is winter coming? It’s hot in here.” 

 _Right,_ another thing, he was always cold now. But that’s what heaters are for, right? No need to overthink that. Tony was a genius, he knew that this was in fact something to think about, but he just couldn’t. He had enough problems as it was and putting himself behind them all was the right thing to do.

”I’ll just assume you came here to discuss something more important than my room temperature?” 

No time to talk around whatever she wanted, he was busy. He also couldn’t risk to have a conversation with her about _why_ he was always cold and shivering, hell, he wouldn’t even know an answer for that.

 And frankly, he was still somewhat afraid of what she might do to him. She was an assassin after all and he felt weaker than ever. 

”Steve really wants to try and explain it all to you, Tony,” Tony resisted the urge to _tell her just how much he did not care,_ ”Why are you so stubborn?”

Natasha went straight to the point.This was an interrogation alright.

But oh, just how much Tony wished she wouldn’t have. Thinking about anything but work hurt and he couldn’t see past that. 

Also, they were barely friends, why did she even _care —_ wait oh. She cared because it was _Steve_ , of course. That’s why she called Tony out, because he was ignoring a friend of hers. As if it was her problem. As if Tony was the one to blame — but that’s just how others saw him. The selfish one. The one who fucks up, okay, he got it. But not here, not in his workshop, not in his safe space. He let them in his _home_ but it still wasn’t enough. 

 

Tony took a deep breath and than looked right into Natasha’s eyes. He was about to lay all his cards on the table, because he knew what everyone thought of him, but he will not stand here and listen to someone accusing him of being stubborn, as if all this had anything to do with that. 

“I thought he would kill me,” Tony cleaned his hands on an old shirt and stared right into her eyes, “I saw his face, the face I used to wake up to for nearly 3 years and I thought he would _kill_ me. And I know he thought so, too.”

Natasha just stared at him in a way that could peel paint from the walls, before she raised an eyebrow at him and shook her head softly.

”Tony, ever thought that there was a reason he didn’t? Because that’s the point, he _didn’t.”_

 _Oh,_ wasn’t Tony just sick of people trying to defend Steve; not one of them even _asked_ how he was doing. So Steve didn’t kill him, congrats, nice job, but _not_ the point. And nobody seemed to get the point either. Because this wasn’t Tony being stubborn and dramatic, this was Tony finally watching out for himself. Because even though the rest of the team didn’t seem to get it, or didn’t _want_ to get it, Tony knew the truth. He’s seen it in Steve’s eyes. 

The point’s never been whether the shield landed in his head or in the reactor. Even that was something the team discussed about now. The point was that he could care less what Steve did and didn’t do, that the fight had _happened_ was the whole problem. And he was so tired of people defending Steve as if they had been there. 

Tony knew that he wasn’t innocent. He was certain he wouldn’t have _killed_ Barnes, hurt badly sure, but not killed. But was that making this treatment okay? 

”Romanov,” he said her name slowly, let it hang in the air between them for a bit, “If you don’t have anything to say about your new uniform, then get the hell out of my workshop.” 

She looked at him quite unimpressed, turned on the heels and left in fast but quiet steps.

”Exquisitely handled, Sir,” Jarvis commented, to which Tony just flipped him off in the nearest camera. 

The following weeks went back to being uneasy with Natasha, but he got it. He could handle himself, avoiding people was his new best talent, and it wasn’t as if Natasha desperately wanted to talk again. They just ignored each other, until Black Widow saved him in a mission by shooting a guy sneaking up on Tony, who was in the middle of putting his suit on. They both shared a tiny smile and nod and that was pretty much the end of it. They still weren’t best friends, hell, they _barely_ scratched the surface of being friends, but it was a start. 

 

 

_There was no possible moment for Tony to pinpoint when it started. It wasn’t as if he just woke up one day and thought for himself that his next big project would be to be able to count his ribs_

Food has never been his problem. A main topic in his life, yes, but never a problem. He used to do so well, really. Food was his anchor, his safe spot, but in a healthy way. The thing he had control over, when he had nothing. 

When Howard yelled at him again, pushed him around like he was just a little inconvenience in his perfect life; when reporter followed him everywhere he went, taking pictures of him doing what every teen does and than obsessively trying to use it against his perfect-son image; when he got pushed around by the people in his school, who were way older than him and so much stronger; he had food. It was his. 

Nobody, not Howard, no bullies, and especially no reporters could tell him what to eat and when. Hell, they didn’t even think of it, which made it ever so easy for Tony to focus on his food intake rather than that he’s about to skip another grade, as if his fellow students weren’t already centuries older; or that his father was pressuring him with far too much work for a company for _which he wasn’t good enough_ or the newest headline that speculated in what way the picture of Tony making out with a _boy_ — god forbid, 3 Hail Marys for his poor soul, blah blah blah— was the end of his future career at Stark Industries. 

To face the truth, food always has been a weak spot for him. It started so harmless and it wasn’t supposed to get out of hand so badly. It was good for him it gave him control, it made him feel alive and it was not serious. _Was_.

Bad enough, he avoided thinking about it so much, even more since his eating habits changed. He just didn’t need yet another thing to worry about. He buried himself in his work. If he stopped doing anything, everything would be so quiet, and he’d have nothing other to do than thinking about everything he doesn’t want to think about. 

 

No, not eating sugar and meat was so normal, too normal to think about it twice; even easier to ignore since he didn’t _want_ to think about it. And then he cuts out dairy, without really realizing it either. He was empty inside and nothing quite _fit_ anymore. 

There had to be a moment he couldn’t pinpoint, when he started to look at butter but then decided to eat his piece of bread just like it was, because he couldn’t help himself but feel really uneasy just looking at it; but he couldn’t recall when it was. It must’ve been months since his coffee turned blacker, long enough for it to not even taste bitter for him anymore. 

 

 _Tony liked his coffee black._  

 

The first time anyone caught on was actually the first time that anyone didn’t really catch on _at all_. 

Tony found his way into the kitchen after staring at blue holograms for the better part of the week, not really paying any attention to anything, which caused him to totally _not_ flinch when he heard a loud whistle from the counter behind him. 

Clint sat there, holding lazily on to his own steaming cup of coffee and flashed him a teasing grin.

”Jesus Tony, look at you, walking around, casually putting the _skinny_ in _skinny_ jeans.” 

Tony huffed dismissively, not even considering to put sugar or milk into his coffee.

 ”I don’t, didn’t, nor will I ever, in my whole existence, wear skinny jeans. I wear Ermenegildo Zegna suits, dear, can you even spell that?” 

Neither Tony nor Clint had put much thought into it, but this was the first time that Tony stood still for a second and actually really considered if he could be ill.  

But than he threw the thought away faster than it came to him; he was Tony Stark. He was many things but not _starving_.

He came back to think it all over again, when he took a real look, not just a tiny glance, at his blue finger nails for the first time and actually thought about wearing nail polish to hide it from the others. That was the exact moment when he realized that he was well aware that something was wrong with him, but not even one step into fixing the problem. He was in full denial and well wasn’t that just the story of his life. 

And he could totally live with that, he just felt the urge to prove to himself that he could do what he wanted to do. This wasn’t an illness, this was just him being reckless, and he needed to show himself that because he felt that little seed of doubt in the back of his head, shouting at him that he should search for Bruce and tell him that something is incredibly wrong. It was just so surreal, he was _Tony Stark_. He was in control over his body and his mind, so it won't be no problem. He ate so little, because he _wanted_ to.

Tony took the spoon in his hand and looked at the Mac’n’Cheese on it. Stared at it really, as if it just threatened to unplug Jarvis forever. He moved the spoon closer to his mouth, one inch at a time, he tried not think about what the ingredients were even though they seemed to be the only thing he could think of, glowing bright in his head - shining like a damn cheese star of Bethlehem.

He could do it. _He was in control_. This was just a spoon with noddles and cheese - _8 ounces Macaroni, 2 cups shredded Cheddar cheese, 1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese, 3 cups milk, 1/4 cup butter, 2 1/2 tablespoons flour, 214,5 kcal;_ to be exact _._

Chewing, swallowing, done. Hell, everybody could do that. _Children_ could do that, so what in God’s name was his damn problem. He survived _dying,_ by creating a new element while being poisoned. For god’s sake, he survived months in a cave with a car battery running his heart. He survived flying into a worm hole and his fall to earth afterwards. He could eat Mac’nCheese. 

Except he really couldn’t.

 

His hand began to shake even more when the food was 3 inches away from his mouth, his whole body was shivering too badly to blame the cold and Tony couldn’t help but clenched his teeth together so harshly that his jaw made a cracking sound. Come _on_. 

Tony bit hard on his bottom lip, until he tasted blood, but maybe that’s good. It would cover how pale his lips were, a fact he strongly ignored whenever he faced a mirror. 

2 Inches. 

_8 ounces Macaroni, 2 cups shredded Cheddar cheese, 1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese, 3 cups milk, 1/4 cup butter, 2 1/2 tablespoons flour, 214,5 kcal._

Tony watched as a long string of cheese fell from the spoon down onto the table, and without thinking for another second he let go of the whole spoon and listened to it fall on the floor

He stared at the mess in front of him, gaping like he couldn’t believe what just happened, and he really couldn’t. He couldn’t grasp anything right now, really.

Something in him broke some more as he finally realized that no one would save him. This was his fight, and there was no chance for him to conquer. He wouldn’t even know where to _start_ with fixing this. 

And it really shouldn’t have surprised him so much, he knew it deep down already, somewhere in his subconscious but it really did. He should have been more careful, shouldn’t just have ignored the obvious signs. His body couldn’t take or heal injuries as fast as it used to. 

Everything felt heavier. His thinning hair, his paling lips and brittle finger nails, his constant shivering, his sensitive, dry skin, hollowed cheeks, sunken eyes, _everything._ But he didn’t do anything. 

He totally lost sight, really. When did this whole thing even _begin?_ He was doing okay and then he woke up with black coffee and the ability to count his bones. 

It actually started so harmless. He didn’t really give it much thought before. Of course was he aware that this illness didn’t just come over somebody, like a storm or wild fire. Everything needed to progress, but he never ever thought that it would begin and grow so slow and harmless that he wouldn’t even realized how deep he’s in until he was already on the bottom of a pit and still falling. It really _helped_ him. Well, it _used_ to help him. It certainly didn’t anymore, did it ?

Tony huffed and pointed honest to god _finger guns_ at himself in the mirror opposite to him, before he could stop himself. It was just so ridiculous, come on, e _ating disorder._ Tony didn’t even dare to _think_ the word too loud. 

He tried to whisper it to himself but couldn’t bring himself to form those words, they felt weirdly heavy and _wrong_ on his tongue. As if they could never describe himself.  

”When —” Tony couldn’t even tell, how he planned on phrasing this question. _When did I begin to eat like I need to prove to somebody that I can live off the complete minimum? When did I begin to look at my food as if it insulted me? When did I begin to play with the fork in my food rather than to eat with it?_

” _Your aversion against vital nutrients began to increase enormously after the events of the parting of the avengers, and developed into a serious danger for your health after Captain Steve Rogers, Sergeant James Barnes, Agent Clint Barton, Agent Natasha Romanov and Master Sergeant Sam Wilson moved back in the Avengers HQ, would you like me to inform Dr. Banner about your current health status, Sir ? I am certain he would —_ ”

”Mute.”

Tony didn’t want to know. Well, he _asked_ , but he didn’t want to hear the answer really. He couldn’t stand to listen to Jarvis telling him just how much all the recent events affected him and how _un_ affected the others were. They came back here right after all the legal issues were settled -thanks to _his_ lawyers— without as much as a guilty expression, not looking as if they had a single worry in the world while Tony couldn’t even face the fridge in his work shop without feeling his empty stomach clench in disgust.  

He had all the evidence right here, open and clear, all the proof that he wasn’t even _close_ to be as okay as he made the others believe. 

 _The others._ They couldn’t know. Hell knows what they’d do. All of them already thought of him as weak and dramatic, what would they think if he told them he had an eating disorder. They probably say that he just wanted pity. Wanted attention. 

Deep down Tony knew that this was bullshit, that they would listen and try to help, but for him it was just yet another weakness. Another thing that made him vulnerable. His bones were probably as easy to break as a dry stick. 

He needed to hide it, somehow, until he figured out _how_ to fix it, but _how_ could he hide something like that? — _The way he’s done it all along._ The only one catching one had been Clint and he didn’t even know what he caught on. Tony would be okay, he could fix that; he was good at fixing things.

Life went on.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Life went on for three and a half days, in which Tony desperately tried to act like he always had. This was much harder then he thought it would be. He lived with two _spies_ and a bunch soldiers together who were literally trained to notice odd behavior. 

So he tried to smile, but not too often. Eat with the team, but not more often then before. He tried to look as if he didn’t constantly gag while eating his one potato. He tried to act like his head wasn’t shouting at him that he’s _empty_ inside and that eating would do nothing to help that, that he was _wasting_ good food to try to substitute for everything he’s lost. 

But then he blacked out. He had blacked out all the time, since he didn’t lie down to sleep anymore, but this was different. He felt his whole body shutting down, felt his urge to _eat_ but he didn’t have the energy to _move._ So when he blacked out because he didn’t eat nor really drink anything and not because he didn’t sleep he decided that he needed to do anything. He didn’t really care before that; he didn’t eat as much anymore, no big deal? This way he could spend more time on updates for Bucky’s new arm and Steve’s shield.

And if crossing his arms hurt because his ribs were nearly fully exposed and sensitive then  was that a problem he didn’t need to focus on right now. His hips hurt more than ever before when he bumped into a table. And if there were now constantly goose bumps all over his body, so what? He had more important things to do. _He was in control_. Just that he totally wasn’t. And he needed to do something, anything, really. 

”Jarvis, scan me,” his voice sounded _wrecked,_ he had drunken a whole glass of water and eaten a half of an apple and a piece of bread. He felt oddly full and empty all at once. 

” _Your pulse decreased worryingly, Sir. Your bpm falls below 60 beats per minute, a potential bradycardia. I also detected an arrhythmia in your pulse, an irregularity in the beats. Your exact weight is 55 Ibs below average, your adipose tissue is severely depleted.”_

He still didn’t get it. He asked Jarvis to tell him every detail from his way to get there again, but this didn’t mean that he had to get it. 

He actually needed Jarvis to tell him over and over again. Every little information was so important, every little fact had to be memorized but still there seemed to be no way for Tony to grasp all the info. It just seemed to be the first thing Tony couldn’t get into his head no matter how hard he tried.

He never planned for this to happen, he never even _thought_ about it. He was 47, not an insecure teenager who wants to fulfill the world’s ridiculous body expectations. He was 47 years old, billionaire, superhero, and a genius.

 

He shook his head and started to rise up from his chair just to fall back into it, startled, when he saw Steve standing in front of the glass from his workshop, apparently trying to get his code to work. 

When Steve looked up and saw that Tony apparently _finally_ noticed him, he made a little hand motion and flashed Tony one of his tiny smilies, that still made his frail heart pump a little faster.

Tony didn’t know why either, but he let Steve in, in a moment of nostalgia maybe, hoping a bit that Steve could save him, before he banned that thought out of his head. He looked at Steve as blank as he could.

”Cap,” Tony held onto his cup of coffee like it was his life line, “What are you doing here?”

”I wanted to talk to you.” 

”Aren’t I just lucky,” Tony stood up and leaned against his worktable, ”What’s up?”

Steve looked like he was in-between spilling all the beans in existence or staying silent forever, until he took a breath so deep, Tony couldn’t help but to wonder how deep this man’s lungs were. He hoped that when his furniture wouldn’t fly around when Cap exhaled.

”I just miss them. I miss it.”

Tony waited for Steve to continue, but he just rubbed the back of his head and looked at Tony with his blue eyes, silently begging Tony to just _understand_ what he meant. But Tony really didn’t. 

”Who? What?”

The last time Tony felt as clueless and taken aback as he did now was when his father yelled at him for not working fast enough when he was 5 and couldn’t understand nor express what all the numbers and ideas in his head meant yet.

”All of it,” Steve took another deep breath that seemed as if he just breathed in all the oxygen in the workshop, “The people, my friends, the smell, everything is _different_. And that doesn’t have to be a bad thing but —,” Steve sat down on the edge of one of the workbenches and sighed, “Your cars drive all by themselves. And also, cars are huge now, Tony. What do people need so much space for? And computers are tiny and everywhere and nobody is impressed by it anymore and I — I am _old._ I don’t belong here. I am _95_ and I don’t understand a thing. I didn’t belong back there either, okay, but — you have _blue holograms everywhere,_ you have walls that talk with a British accent and I can barely unlock a phone.”

Steve stopped talking for a few seconds in which the silence threatened to suffocate Tony, who yet had to see his holograms and Jarvis having anything to do with anything; so he just cocked his head and waited for Steve to finish his speech. 

“But Bucky, was — he was my hold. Always had been. I couldn't let you hurt him, or even more than that. I was selfish, I was blind. Bucky was the only one who made me feel less out of place. I am sorry that I hurt you.”

Tony looked at him for a short moment in the same way he looks at a problem with his tech that he tries to figure out, as his sluggish mind processed the words thrown at him. Eventually he just shook his head and gestured to himself.

”Well, apologies and all, no really, I am _so_ sorry I wasn't good enough for you, Cap,” his voice was as sweet as sugar, but hard enough to cut steel, ”I am so sorry that I wasn’t enough to be your _hold._ I am also sorry that it took me so long to realize that you deserved better than me. If I wasn’t enough for you, you should have said _something, anything,_ tell me to change whatever I did wrong, what made you feel like you didn’t belong. _Asked_ me for help. _”_

Because it was true. He is, was, and always had been totally prepared to give Steve everything he needed to be happy. 

 _”_ This is not what I meant, I just — I couldn’t ask that from you.”

Steve looked at him, as if he didn’t know, didn’t understand that Tony would move the stars for him, should he ask.

“What do you even want from me? I wasn’t good enough for anything, especially for you, so why do you keep doing this; keep coming down here and talking, and — _why?_ ”

Steve looked at him as if he just said something incredibly stupid, before he shook his head and staring him down with the most honest look in his eyes. He could’ve told Tony that the sun was closer to earth then the moon and Tony would have believed him in a heartbeat. 

 _”_ Because it’s _you,”_ Steve smiled at him in a downright heartbreaking way, ”Bucky made me feel like I was back home and I was so blinded by the feeling, that I didn’t see that the only home I have, the only home I _need,_ is here. Is _you_.”

The only reason Tony’s jaw didn’t hit the floor, hell, _the earth core,_ in that moment was just because he was completely frozen in shock. 

And then Tony felt, from one second to the next, worse than he ever had before. He was _so_ sorry, he hadn’t been good enough. He wished so much that he were. Right now more than ever; because if he’d only been better, he and Cap would still have _this._ Would have _them_ , together. 

Tony couldn’t help himself but wonder if it was possible for a heart to literally tear in two. Because that was what this realization felt like. 

Turned out he didn’t have bring down the moon to make Steve happy, all it would’ve taken was to be his home. But he screwed this up so badly that Steve felt like he’d feel better in Bucky’s presence than Tony’s.

”I’m sorry,” he said again. _I’m so sorry that I wasn’t good enough to be all you needed after all._

“You have no reason to apologize to me.”

Steve just didn’t seem to understand that ever since Tony had the chance to yell at him for all he’s worth, everything else just seemed numb. He’s said all he needed to say to Steve back then and now everything he did was empty and felt unimportant and all that’s left was the constant need to tell Steve that he was so _sorry_. Because he really was. Fixing things had been _his thing._ But he failed Steve. 

Tony must’ve zoned out looking completely defeated, because Steve just sighed and stared at him with so much love and understanding. Tony wasn’t sure if he was able to handle the way Steve looked at him like he was the greatest thing since tabbed browsing. 

Steve flashed him a sad smile and nodded understandingly. 

 _”_ It’s okay to be a little broken, Tony.” _Yup, his face must’ve looked pretty_ wrecked _for Steve to say that out of any context._

 _“_ So it’s okay to break someone a little?” 

Tony smirked even though it felt like his face was cracking in half. Steve shook his head again and seemed completely baffled by Tony saying that.

”No, it’s — I don’t,” Steve paused. The silence was weighed down with every minute they’ve spent as a team, as friends _and_ lovers. 

”I have nightmares.” 

Tony didn’t know where this was coming from, but he just needed to get this out there. It felt like they were here to confess everything. As if they were in a little bubble right now, where they could talk openly about everything and Tony just _needed_ to tell somebody that. He needed to tell _Steve_ this. 

”I know.” 

There wasn’t any sign of annoyance in Steve’s voice. He sounded confused, but ready to listen to whatever Tony would say to him.

  
And _of course_ did he know about the nightmares. After all, he was the person who helped Tony through them, held him close in good nights and stayed awake with him in bad ones for the past 3 years.

”No, I’m not talking about those nightmares,” he really wasn’t. _Yes,_ being tortured in a cage and flying into a wormhole and then falling back to earth caused a hell of a lot nightmares but they all faded away after what had happened, “I can feel it. Every time I close my eyes I can feel the shield, _your_ shield, finding its way into my chest and I just can’t shake it off. I am falling, Steve, and there is nothing to catch me.” _Because you left me, broken, in like fifty new shattered pieces._

Steve looked horrified. He swallowed thickly and evidently thought about walking closer to Tony but didn’t. He just shook his head and his eyes looked as if they were crying out like a dying star. 

  
”Tony, I —,” Steve paused, obviously having no idea what he could answer to that and Tony understood that. He didn’t expect an answer to begin with, he just needed to get that out there. 

He had so much to deal with, he _blacked out_ because he didn't _eat enough_ , for God’s sake, his insulin level was practically nonexistent, his heart had been damaged even before all this and only getting worse every second. His hair was getting thinner, his nails bluer, he’s got constant bruises _everywhere._ He couldn’t _stop,_ because somewhere on his long journey to get to this screwed up point, he’s built an aversion for food, and now he couldn’t even think of it without gagging. He wanted to change _so_ badly but he _couldn’t._  

He was in _so_ deep and there was no help, and all he could think of was that he was still getting worse. Soon his skin will be so transparent that it’d be obvious to everybody just how _empty_ he was on the inside. 

  
The logical part of his brain knew that this wasn’t possible and he didn’t have to fear for the others to see the black hole inside of him, but he couldn’t shake the constant need to _hide._ _  
_ So no, he hadn’t expect an answer from Steve, he just needed to get at least a little bit of the overwhelming weight off of his chest before it broke another hole in his sternum. 

”Don’t say anything, Steve.” There was no way Tony could stand to hear the words ' _I am so sorry'_ one more time. ”I’ll get over it.” _Eventually._

He gathered all the willpower he had and smiled at Steve like he wasn’t falling apart, even more so than ever, since Siberia.

 _”_ Tony, I can help. Or I can _try_ to fix it, we —” 

”The point is, you don’t have to. I have been through a lot, Rogers, a few new nightmares won’t bring me down.” _My eating habits might, though._

Steve nodded at him, obviously understanding the silent request to leave the workshop. He left looking more lost then ever. But everything Tony could think of was the fact that Steve didn’t deny that he deserved better all long. 

 

He didn’t pay much attention to anything for the next day. He was comfortable in his workshop, drinking a green smoothie to get his blood running and to hone his focus on new wings for Wilson, until every wire looked the same and his eyes weren’t able to really focus anymore. 

He sighed deeply and went upstairs to get coffee and maybe a fruit bar to avoid blacking out again. He wanted to eat more than that but at the same time he really didn’t, so all that was left was an itch inside, leaving him unsatisfied with everything he did and he never wanted to turn all his emotions off as badly as he did now. 

He was so confused by everything and had no-one to turn to. He talked to Jarvis about it, asked him for solutions, discussed everything, until Clint told Sam sarcastically during dinner, that they could hack J to find out all of Tony’s dirty secrets. Even though it was just a joke to tease Tony, and he knew the neither of them had the ability to actually hack into Jarvis’s database, he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling of being watched. 

 

Speaking of the devil, Tony found Sam sitting on one of the bar chairs, sipping something that looked like something between chocolate milk and a smoothie. Tony had no urge to ask what _exactly_ that was. 

Sam’s grin was easy, his eyes flashed excitedly when he saw Tony enter the kitchen. And hell, didn’t Tony wish to always be as carefree as Wilson seemed to be. 

”Hey, Big T.”

Tony nodded at him and then went straight to the coffee machine, watching Sam out of the corner of his eye.  

”Cap left for mission for S.H.I.E.L.D overseas yesterday evening, he won’t be back for at least 2 weeks,” Sam said casually, obviously trying to find out if Tony knew more as to why Steve had the sudden urge to leave. 

And hell, yeah Tony knew. Steve felt guilty for the nightmares and thought that the best option would be to bring a bit of distance between the two of them. Tony couldn’t suppress a sigh. This was not what he wanted to achieve. And also, just as an aside, the action was worthless. It didn’t matter where Steve was, Tony couldn’t shake the pain of the shield hitting his chest, ghosting over his whole body. It didn’t matter if Steve stood right in front of him or visited Mars, the feeling was always there. 

“That’s weird,” Tony answered dismissively. 

“Yeah,” Sam replied, narrowing his eyes at Tony, trying to read all the answers to unasked questions right from his forehead. Tony just raised an eyebrow and nodded.

“Yeah.” 

Tony drank a sip of his coffee and closed his eyes in temporary content; he really needed that.

”Dude,” Tony opened one eye to look at Sam, who returned his gaze rather baffled, in a not quite horrified but disconcerted manner, “Did you lose weight? Like _a lot_ of weight?”

  
Sam was about to get up from his chair, presumably to walk around the bar towards Tony, but the shorter one stopped him with a cocky hand motion. 

“Jesus, everybody knows gentlemen don’t ask questions about weight.” Tony grinned jokingly at him, hoping that the other man couldn’t hear his heart beating way too fast and frantic in his chest as his panic grew. _Please, don’t ask further, please, forget about it._

“Hey, I am more of a gentleman then any of y’all living here.” Sam smirked back teasingly, seemingly not realizing just _what_ he nearly found out here. Tony was finally able to breath again, before returning an equally teasing smile.

“Not in those sweats you’re not.” 

Sam tilted his head back in a full body laugh while Tony tried to get his heartbeat under control. _It was okay. He didn’t know anything; everything was okay._

 _Except it wasn’t._ Because no matter how hard Tony tried to act natural and as if everything was normal, the others seem to start to realize something was up. He tried to ignore it when they looked at him longer than usual. He _prayed_ that they won’t catch on. 

It’d been 10 days, 6 apples, 2 fruit bars and one piece of bread -which took him what felt like hours to eat- since he talked to Sam, who seemed to have forgotten that he ever realized something was up, and never brought it up again. Tony let himself relax again, it was fine, nobody knew anything.

He focused back on the plans for Natasha’s new uniform, forgetting completely that Bruce was also in his lab, looking at different metals, trying to figure out how to make them as strong as Vibranium, until said man spoke up.

"Tony, you look thinner.” 

Tony flinched so hard, he felt it with every bone in his body. He plastered his press—grin over his face and nodded at Bruce thoughtfully.

“Of course, this way I can built the armor a few sizes smaller, so nobody but me fits in it. Can’t have another person steal it from me, _again._ ” 

Bruce looked everything but convinced. He walked through the blue holograms that were flickering in front of the billionaire and took his glasses off.

”Tony,” he said carefully, ”are you okay?” _No._ He was so not okay, but Bruce didn’t need to know that. 

Well, part of him wanted to tell him. Right then and there, but he couldn't. And his silences may be the cruelest lie he's ever told. 

“I always am, Brucey. No need to worry.” 

His smile hurt his face, it felt like it was tearing him apart. He jumped from the counter he sat on and walked to the door in hurried steps, his heart beating painfully fast against his sensitive ribs again.

“Thanks for asking, though, but really. I am all okay. Now look at the time, I really need to be —,” the elevator doors closed before he had to think of yet another lie. He didn’t need to be anywhere, in fact, his workshop had been _exactly_ where he needed to be, but _Bruce got it._ He hadn’t bought his explanation and Tony was frankly _freaking the fuck out._  

Bruce was a good man, he’ll sit down and think about everything until he got the whole picture and there was no way to stop him from doing so. It might take him awhile to put all the pieces together, a day or two, but he’d understand eventually. All Tony could do now was avoiding the other man until — well, until everything was really all right again. _Damnit._

 

He was in the middle of overthinking and a talking himself into the panic attack of his life when Natasha come into the common living room too, watching him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Stark?” 

She sounded as neutral as always, eyeing him suspiciously, while he clenched his hands so tight that his fingernails dug their way into his palm. He tried to look her into the eyes, an easy lie on his lips but he _couldn’t_. No words found their way out of his way too dry mouth, and he just gaped at her silently, trying to let his brain catch up with everything. 

He needed to be careful. Natasha was the only person who hadn’t brought his weight up — except Steve and Bucky — and he needed to keep it that way. But he was already knee deep in a panic attack, couldn’t even make himself come up with an excuse. Natasha might be the only one who yet had to address this whole thing, but she was also the only person who had been eying him suspiciously for months now. 

Tony went for the easiest solution, he turned on his heel and was about to lock himself in his bedroom. He didn’t even get as far as two steps in the direction of his safe place by the time Natasha grabbed him by his arm.

He could see the exact moment she felt just _how_ thin he was under the sweaters and plaid shirts he never seemed to take off nowadays. Tony let his eyes close, his teeth clench and his breath stuck in his lung. She knew. Of course she did. He could feel even more panic raising in him, his heart beating fast inside his chest - still or yet again he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that he’d been found out. 

He screwed up so badly that everybody saw it, and there was no way to hide his weakness away anymore. 

”Tony —,” her voice broke before she could finish whatever she intended to say. She settled to just look at him with her normal schooled expression, though it seemed kind of off, as if she was trying really hard to not yell at him in panic - Jesus, he could sing a duet with her on that note - before she caught herself again and carried on with her 'not — taking — any — shits — not — now — not — ever' expression. 

”I can grab around your whole wrist.” 

Her tone was pure business. There was no question, there was nothing to answer, but Tony felt the strange need to defend himself. This was _his_ problem, _his_ weakness, and _his_ secret he tried to hide away so badly. She was not supposed to know that. She was not supposed to _want_ to know that. 

He swallowed dryly for what felt like an eternity, until he did what he could do best: making people believe what they wanted to believe. He lied for his whole life long, he could talk his sweet way out of this, he just needed to take a deep breath. 

He closed his eyes for one short second, collecting himself. He was _Tony Stark:_ 47 year old billionaire, genius, philanthropist. He had his heart literally and metaphorically torn into pieces, flew through a worm hole, survived dying. Kids played with action figures that looked like _his_ armor. 

When he opened his eyes again the panic was gone. He had a secret to keep. An admittedly obvious secret, that was about to be out in the open in approximately 32 hours - depending on how fast Bruce put two and two together, and how long he needed to digest it afterwards. 

”Yeah, just like a bracelet can, congrats Agent, I’ll put it on your resumé.” 

Tony nodded mockingly and put on his smile he usually saved for the press. 

”Don’t give me that bullshit, Stark. Pull your shirt up.” Natasha crossed her arms and stayed exactly were she was, keeping a respectful distance.

”Uh - huh, darling, I’m the dinner first kinda guy.”

  
With that he walked to the elevator as quickly as he could without it being considered running, not that Natasha even tried to go after him. She had always seemed to watch him, she’d always been there when he was in the common rooms, always there not really saying anything about it really, but observing. Tony had no illusion that she needed to ask or talk to get all the info she wanted; he never felt more exposed, raw, and stripped down in his life. 

Tony blinked and tried to not freak out until he was in the relative privacy of the elevator. They knew. They _all_ knew. And they were approximately one group meeting away from putting all the pieces together and then come to his workshop with pitchforks.  

Because they knew. He was more unarmed than ever, he never _ever_ had been this defenseless in his life. And they _knew it._ Every single one knew their piece to the answer and he couldn’t stop it. All he could do was stand there and _watch_. They were everywhere, in his workshop, his living room; this whole tower was filled with people who knew exactly where to hit him, who knew his weakest spot. 

 

He leaned against the mirror inside the elevator, trying to get his breathing under control, but he couldn’t. There wasn’t enough air in this tiny space and his heart was beating so loud, he had the urge to press his hands to his ears. There were little black dots dancing around the edges of his vision. Clenching his eyes closed caused him to become even more dizzy. His blood sounded so _loud._

He tried to find balance, tried to hold on to the elevator walls for his dear life, but everything was shifting and he couldn’t stop shaking.

Somewhere far away he could hear Jarvis talking to him, but Tony couldn’t do much more than look in the vague direction of  one camera. 

” _Sir, after protocol Alpha4738B 'Master Is Very Well Down To Earth, Suck It, Steve' I’ll stop the elevator immediately on the next floor, I am informing Doctor Banner as well as a medical team as we speak. Please sit down, Sir, your heart rate is increasing and your oxygen level is 67% under average.”_

Tony’s sight got even more blurred when he sat down in one rushed motion; it was more of his knees giving out, really.

”Jarvis, no,” his voice sounded husky and small. 

” _I am afraid I must insist, Sir.”_

No, _no._

”Override code 4753 —”

He faded away int the darkness before he could end his slurring, knowing that _if_ he wakes up, everything would be different. For a second he wished he wouldn’t, because he really couldn’t tell if he’d be strong enough to deal with all of that. _So much to do, so_ _much to do._

 

 

He woke up to a not quite steady beeping sound. It fluctuated between irregularly fast and sluggishly slow, missing a beat completely from time to time. Yeah, definitely his screwed—up heartbeat. 

He tried to listen to his surroundings; he was probably the little medic room right next to the labs, which was usually used for post—missions check ups. As far as he could tell, there was no other person here: no breathing next to him or any other indicator that he had company. He tried to open his eyes, which was harder than he thought it would be. He felt as if his eyelids were glued shut. 

The first thing he saw was — _brightness_. 

“Jarvis,” his voice sounded as if he’d just eaten sandpaper for months; he swallowed dryly 3 times and licked over his lips, ignoring his booming headache and took a deep breath, ”For goodness’ sake, turn the sun down.”

“ _For you, Sir, always,”_ the room behind his closed eyes got darker and Tony dared to attempt another try in opening his eyes and looking at his surroundings, ” _It’s a great pleasure to see you awake again.”_

 _”_ How long  have I been out?” _Jesus_ , he really needed to drink something before his vocal cords attempted suicide. 

“ _You were unconscious for 2 minutes in the elevator, and continued to sleep here for 32 hours and 26 minutes, Sir”_

 _”_ Weirdly specific, J, didn’t I tell you that watching people in their sleep is creepy. I really should —,” Tony couldn’t help but cough, doubling over and then falling back in pain, which shot up his back and his rip cage all the same. _Shit._

 _“There’s a cup of ice chips on the nightstand on your right, Sir. You would’ve seen it if you weren’t to busy calling_ your _AI creepy.”_

Tony couldn’t help but smile a little and then reaching for the cup - which in fact stood on the little table next to him - while trying not to whine in pain. Hell, Bruce could’ve at least put him on the good drugs. 

After swallowing several chips of ice he felt marginally better, so he turned his attention back to Jarvis.

”You’re hilarious, J. Remind me to program this big mouth of yours out of your system first thing when I get out of here, why don’t you?”

” _As you wish.”_

 

 _”_ Tony.” 

The subject turned to face the door flinching so quickly his whole spine made a cracking sound. 

Bruce stood in the middle of the doorway, while Clint leaned against the doorframe. Both looked super tired, as if they hadn’t slept since Tony was placed here, but why _wouldn’t_ they. 

”Good morning, Bruce,” he tried an easy grin that failed gloriously, “Legolas.”

Clint just nodded at him, eying the tubes inserted in Tony’s arms. They were without a doubt to raise his blood sugar and make up for all his skipped meals. 

 _”_ How are you feeling?” 

”A-okay.”

Clint huffed without any humor and walked to the foot of Tony’s bed. He eyed Tony up and down one more time. 

“You skipped like all your meals for 4 fucking months!” Clint snapped. Tony didn’t see this outburst coming at all. Like, he _assumed_ that it was just a question of time until they all came to him and tell him just _how_ much they thought he fucked up, but he didn’t expect it to be the first thing when he opened his eyes. 

Also Clint was so _loud_ and Tony’s head hurt bad enough as it was. And also-also, it wasn’t as if Tony didn’t _know_ just how badly he fucked up. He was very well aware of it, thank you very much, he didn’t need anybody to yell at him. 

“Go easy, Clint,” Bruce said warningly, while stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.  

“We were _all_ here, you could’ve talked to _any of us,_ but you _didn’t._ You locked yourself away in your workshop, because — yeah why? Because you’re the great Tony Stark, who doesn’t need help, huh? _”_ Clint didn’t even bother to turn around to look at Bruce, eyes fixed on Tony, not doing as much as even blink.

“Stop it, Barton.” Bruce laid one hand on the archer’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off. 

  
”Nah, let him, Brucey, it’s okay.” Tony managed to choke out, trying to flash them some kind of smile that probably ended up looking as if he’d throw up on them. Judging by the look Banner gave him, he achieved exactly that. 

”It is not _okay,_ Stark, you hear me? You know what that is?” He pointed at the needles in Tony’s arm, as if he didn’t figure all this out already, “It _feeds_ you, because you would _die_ if it didn’t _._ How could you let this happen, how could you —” 

”Clint, that’s _enough._ We don’t know anything but the obvious _yet,”_ Bruce spoke up again, not looking green but certainly on his way to get there.

“No, you listen. He — he could be _dead._ He could’ve just died and would’ve been _gone._ How am I supposed to —” Clint turned his gaze to the floor, swallowed, his breath trembling, there was no fire behind his words anymore, he just looked tired. ”You could have died, Tony.”

For the first time in forever, Tony didn’t know what to say. Because yeah, that was the truth. He himself was surprised that he was still alive, to be honest. But he didn't think that Clint cared so much, it’s _Clint._ The last time he showed any emotions like this was — _when Phil Coulson died._

Well, that actually explained a lot. Clint already lost a friend and couldn’t do anything against it, but this was different. Tony didn’t get stabbed; Tony didn’t _die_ and they weren’t close friends, hell, they  were barely more than room mates. 

“You should get some rest,” Bruce was undoubtedly just Dr. Banner right now, professional, trying to lock his own feelings out. “Right now the tube ingests nutrients for you. But it can only do so much. I laid apples on the nightstand, I figured that would be the only thing you wouldn’t totally recoil at right now. I’ll come check on you in a few hours. Jarvis informs me if anything happens.” 

He practically had to pull Clint, who still looked something in between pissed and devastated, out of the room.

Once Tony was alone again he closed his eyes and tried to make out how good his chances would be to just walk out of here. He could Jarvis to not tell Bruce, but he didn’t trust himself to have enough energy to even _walk._ So he had no other choice but to lay there and think about how badly he _didn’t_ want to be here. He was kind of locked up, no defense and all his cards were open on the table. He _lost._ And everybody knew it. 

He spent the next three days in his bed in the medical wing in the Avenger’s HQ, bored out of his mind. Clint didn’t visit him anymore, neither did any of the others. Only Bruce checked in from time to time, always looking at him with his professional doctor face, which made Tony think that Bruce might have prohibited the others from visiting him. Or they really, _really_ don’t care _at all._  

The only other person, who came to him - one time - was Rhodey, sitting in a wheelchair looking him disapprovingly up and down before making a teasing comment about them being hospital buddies and laughed with Tony together. It was so relaxing to finally laugh a bit again, to know that Rhodes _knew_ him. _Knew_ that Tony would just feel anxious if he asked questions about the whole thing and that the best way of handling it was to wait until Tony was ready to talk. 

 

 

 

When a deer runs into the road, it is so startled by the headlights that it doesn't move for a few seconds instead of running away instantly. For the first time in his life Tony could totally relate to this. When Tony walked into the kitchen everybody watched him with careful eyes, guilt all over their faces screaming _how couldn’t we see this_ at him. He never in his life wanted to be swallowed by the floor or just poof into thin air that badly before.

He was far too gone to even say something right away, because he knew whatever he’d say, it would change his whole life. So he stood there and stared right into the headlights without moving a limb. 

Everyone around him watched his every movement, as if they were waiting for him to blow up or collapse, to break down again and lose control, even though he’s never had a solid ground to stay on ever since Steve’s shield went smoothly through his suit, just _brushing_ his chest underneath, leaving him as an empty shell. 

Well, if life was fair, he’d be healthy and happy in his workshop right now. But life wasn’t fair and some things can’t be avoided. 

 

”Stop _looking_ at me like that, Jesus Christ, guys.” He couldn’t stand it. 

Clint, Steve and his always following shadow Bucky looked down on the floor instantly, Natasha just raised an unimpressed eyebrow and Sam eyed him up and down and then inhaled sharply, whispering _”Your coffee”_ under his breath and Tony couldn’t help but nodding helplessly. 

 _Yes._ His coffee.

And then they just stood there for the longest 5 minutes of Tony’s life, studying the floor, counting the cups on the shelf, planning exit routes, until Natasha finally took mercy on them all and broke the tensed silence. 

”How could you let this happen to you? This can _kill_ you, Tony.”

And Tony wished he could just yell at their faces that they haven't cared whether he _lived or died just 8 month ago_ either, so why were the others allowed to not care for him, but he himself wasn’t? He just ate half an apple today — even though Bruce now supervised anything he did and took blood samples every other _second —_ but so what? It wasn’t as if he rammed a shield in his upper body and than left. But somehow it was him not eating that much anymore far worse, huh.

And that was his point right there, why was Steve allowed to be cruel to him but he wasn’t.

“I can handle myself,” Tony deadpanned in the similar tone other people say: 'I only got 6 months to live.' And who knows, as far as he’s concerned, this was a possibility and depressingly likely.

“Well, you obviously ain’t able to do that now, are you?” Sam looked at him with narrowed eyes. “This is _dangerous_ , Tin Hat, we’re just trying to help you _not_ to die. So attend our group dinners again and let us help you out of this.”

And Tony just _snapped_. Because how dare he to talk to Tony like that. Like Tony owed them, like he couldn’t survive without them, as if he was a child, that needed their help, after doing something stupid.

“So Cap leaving me behind to _die,_ with a hole in my _powerless_ suit, in the snow, in some old HYDRA building, in the middle of _nowhere,_ without any possibility to call for help _or_ defend myself is a-okay,” he saw Bucky in the corner of his eyes turning his head away, seemingly ashamed and guilty, _well at least someone regretted what happened_. 

Tony walked over to the coffee pot and filled his cup, ready to make a run for it after finishing his statement, because it needed to be said, “But me not eating dinner with you all is not?”

He stepped closer to Sam, keeping a respectful distance but still threateningly close.

“Listen carefully now, Wilson, because there’s something that somehow escaped your understanding and I really need to clear this up for you. If I eat one apple a day or a whole apple _tree_ is absolutely, totally, without any doubt, _none_ of you business, period. You copy that?”

“Stop it, Tony,” well now, _that_ was just rich coming from _Steve_ of all people. “We are all concerned and want you to be healthy. And to achieve that you _need_ to eat, don’t you see that?”

Tony turned around sharply and looked Steve right into his eyes, something he hadn’t done in like _forever_. Blue, with a tiny bit of green. Yeah, Tony needed to be more careful, because once you stared into those eyes for too long, they began to feel a lot like _home._  

But not right now. Because Tony felt raw and defenseless and they all just gaped at him, as if he’d performed open heart surgery naked. But his home was ripped out of his hands, and it all lead to this in an awfully twisted way and Tony just couldn’t do that right now, because everything inside him yelled at him to just _run and hide._

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Rogers. This is _m_ y house, this is _my_ problem and this is _my_ body. Don’t you dare standing there and talking as if this is _any_ of your concern.” 

“You are _sharing_ this house with us, you are a member of _our team_ , which makes it our problem!” 

 

Steve narrowed his eyes, completely unaware that Tony was planning ways to get away with murder at this very moment. 

“I can reassure you that I am still able to fight any battle, thank you very much.” 

"You idiot, I couldn't care less if you can fight. This is about _you_ , you matter, not Iron Man, not your support in battles; I need to make sure, that _you_ are all right!” _Yeah, right. Ha frickin ha, wasn’t that just a good laugh for everyone in this room._

“And since when exactly do you care, huh? Now that you got everything you wanted, I am worth a second thought again? You’re _so_ generous, _Captain._ ”

 Steve had the audacity to _sigh_ and roll his eyes to the ceiling. Tony could think of 337 different ways to kill Steve right on the spot and hated it that he couldn’t decide which one was the most painful.

“Don’t be like that.”

 

 “I’m okay without your help.”

  _Definitely not._ But nobody needed to know that Tony didn’t have any idea how to fix himself on his own. He was in too deep, everything was heavy and he was _sinking_. He didn’t need their pity help, however, okay, he _got it._ They felt bad about what happened, or they just felt bad for him, he didn’t know, he didn’t _care._ He just wanted to be left alone, tinkering in his workshop, forgetting about everything. But they were so _fixated_ on him, he felt like a prisoner more often then not. 

 “Well, obviously you’re not.” _Hit the nail right on the head._

Tony tensed up, clenching his teeth; how _dare_ Steve to sound so self-righteous right now, as if he wanted to prove to Tony that he still _knew him._

“Fuck you, Steve. I don’t need your pity, I don’t need you supervising me; I am _okay._ And even if I am not, _it’s_ not _your problem.”_

Tony took his cup in a death grip and made his way through the stunned Avengers. 

 _"_ Just - Tony,” he didn't bother to turn around to face Steven; he threw one glance over his shoulder and then focused on the elevator doors that slid open and promised the privacy he craved, ”Don’t starve yourself in my name.”

This however brought Tony to spin around _,_ his finger nails digging in his palms, 

_“I was wrong about you. The whole world was wrong about you.”_

 

His words weren’t more than a broken whisper, never had the emptiness inside him hurt as bad as it did in this very moment. He was so tired of thinking of all the ways he wasn’t enough. Done with _knowing_ that Steve didn’t care the least for him, he just wanted his clean record, nothing more. 

When he came down to his workshop, he threw the vegetable soup Bruce made him away. He’d promised his friend that he’d try and eat it, that he’d give his best to do better, because he hated that he'd worried him so badly, but there was no way he could eat that now.

Sitting down on his workbench never felt as pointless as it did now. Steve’s words always on his mind, repeating themselves in mocking loops, making it hard to breath. He sat there for hours at least, until he fell asleep, tears dried on his cheeks, darkness swallowing him down like he’d always been part of it. 

His dream shouldn’t have been terrifying. He had bad and worse nightmares and this wasn’t one. He was sitting on a bench, seeing Steve throwing an easy laugh in Bucky’s direction. It shouldn’t have been terrifying at all, but, God help him, it was. Because he had never felt more alone and empty in his entire life. He woke up with a silent scream on his lips and an aching pain in his chest. 

He couldn’t tell if he got _worse_ after that, just that it didn’t get any better _at all._ Tony couldn’t help but thinking that he might just be past his saving point. Maybe there just were some people who didn’t deserve any more chances. So the universe just watched him trying hopelessly to fix himself but failing, until he gave up and just did what Banner told him, feeling less and less like a person and more and more like a robot. So maybe these things people said about him, that he was just a machine, didn’t care for anything, yeah maybe those things were true after all. He was the walking image of a train wreck, ghosting around, keeping his mouth shut, overworked and restless, more watching himself fade away than anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you for all your comments and kudos ! I've really enjoyed reading them (even though I don't really know how to answer, so I just - didn't) I'd love to read some more, though, don't be shy! Just please make sure to actually comment on my writing etc. too; I know Steve looks bad in this chapter but I have a lot planned out and — I would just appreciate to read a bit more about my actual work - ♥️
> 
> I've already got like 4000-5000 words for the final chapter, so you won't have to wait for the happy ending for too long. (And a tiny, little bit more angst. Really, just a biiiiit more --)


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